Kurtbastian AU Sunday
by Klainey
Summary: This is where I will post all my contributions to Kurtbastian AU Sunday. Every Sunday you are given a theme in which you can either write fic, draw/paint fanart, make a playlist, etc etc. I will mainly write fanfiction. : Rating can go up.
1. Cisgirl KathSenna

**Kurtbastian AU Sunday: Cisgirl! Kurtbastian**

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Clang—"Shit."

Katherine closes her laptop with an annoyed sigh and walks to the window. In the middle of the lawn, dressed in skin-tight black jeans, a hot pink tank top and a jean jacket with studs on the shoulders, stands Senna. There are still a few handfuls of tiny pebbles at her feet.

"Hi, baby. I'm sorry for almost breaking your window, but really, you should just have come outside and come see me."

Her sandy-blonde hair is artistically but carefully messed up, and in her hand she's holding what appears to be a bottle of some sorts.

"It's two am."  
She smirks.  
"Well you were still awake, weren't you? So what are you complaining about? Get your cute little ass down here, Kath."  
She winks and smiles with a flash of dazzlingly white teeth.  
Katherine smiles sweetly too, but closes the window, turns around and walks back into her room.  
"But your ass _is _cute!"  
Her voice sounds muffled through the glass. Katherine smiles to herself. "It sure is." She sighs and gathers up the clothes on her bed. Organizing the closet could wait. Her phone vibrated on the nightstand.  
**From: Senna 3  
I'm not going away till u come outside.  
**The corners of her mouth turn up into a smirk.  
**To: Senna 3  
I hope ur not too opposed to sleeping outside?  
**Not a minute later another text message comes in.  
**From: Senna 3  
Not if I have you to keep me warm ;)**

She rolls her eyes but walks back to put on her own, white Doc Martens. Now, what to wear? About ten minutes later she casts a quick look out the window and, sure enough, Senna is still there. She's sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the damp grass, sipping from the bottle she'd brought. When she notices Kath watching, she grins and hugs the bottle to her chest, sticking her tongue out in a childish attempt to state her possession of the bottle. When Kath raises an eyebrow, she just shrugs and runs her tongue along her teeth and raises an eyebrow suggestively. Kath sees the glint of the street lantern reflect on the tiny barbell in Senna's tongue and shudders. She remembers what it feels like against her own tongue, clicking against her teeth, against her... She shakes her head. Not tonight. She quickly laces up her shoes and pulls on a leather jacket, then tiptoes down the stairs and past her dad's bedroom. Pausing for a second, she presses her ear against the door. The deep snoring satisfies her and she moves on, down the hall, through the kitchen, and through the front door, shutting it behind her with a soft click. As soon as the key turns in the lock, Kath feels two warm arms circling her waist and a cold nose nuzzling her neck.  
"I knew you'd come."  
Kath smiles at the sound of her girlfriend's voice.  
"I always do, don't I?"  
Kath turns around as Senna unwinds her arms, sliding her hand into Kath's and twining their fingers together.

Senna presses their lips together for a brief moment before pulling apart again and resting their foreheads together.

"You always do."

They jump apart at the sound of a car speeding by, and Katherine smiles.

"So."

"So?"

"So, smartass, what's in the bottle?"

Senna grins cheekily and takes another swig, sloshing the liquid around in the bottle.

"So, hot ass, it's booze. Liquor. Alcoholic beverage. The good stuff even, from my dad's liquor cabinet."

She drinks again, as if to prove her point. Kath shakes her head, but takes the bottle when it's offered. The alcohol burns on its way down her throat, but she doesn't let Senna notice it, just swallows and tries not to let her eyes water too much. If she does notice, Senna doesn't say anything about it. They start walking, swapping the bottle in between them, until they see the familiar contours of the playground appear before them.

There's something about a playground in the dead of night. Some might think it misses the bright laughs of children, the shrill screams and piercing sounds of playing kids. They say the creak of the swings in the wind is frightening, that the brush of tall grass against ankles makes them nervous.

They simply don't _understand_

Kath and Senna step to the old swing set, sitting down beside each other. Senna takes her hand again, interlacing their fingers and starting to swing. Kath closes her eyes and lets the familiar creaking of the chains relax her as she swung higher and higher. She feels a smile taking over her face. They slow down until the swings stop, with just the occasional squeak when one of them moves.

All of a sudden Senna gets up. There is a rustle of fabric and Kath feels something suspiciously feeling like satin cover her eyes.

"Senna, what—"

"Sh. Trust me."

There is a slight quiver in her voice at the word 'trust', a plea that she doesn't want to put into words. Kath nods and lets her put the blindfold over her eyes. Senna takes her hand and leads her a few hundred yards away. It's not too far, and it's dark, and she feels the ground slightly slanting upwards. She hears the rustling of dead leaves still on the branches in early fall, and she smiles to herself. She knows exactly where they are. Behind the playground there's this big hill with a lot of trees in front of it. Nobody really takes care of it, so the grass is high and soft and the trees are wide and protecting whoever decides to hide behind them. Senna's soft hands are in hers again, and her voice whispers in her ear.

"You can take off the blindfold."

She does so, fingers shaking. Slowly, she opens her eyes. There seem to be a thousand tea lights scattered all over the place, giving the hill a warm orange glow. They look like tiny stars, tumbled from the sky, onto the ground. There are a bunch of small speakers too, playing soft music from an iPod that's plugged in somewhere. In the middle of it all is a blanket, spread out on the grass, with a plate of seemingly homemade cookies and another bottle of wine. She knows her eyes are comically large, but she can't help it. This is not something Senna would normally do. If she has something to say, she either just says it, or even texts it. A cold nose nuzzles the nape of her neck and arms wrap around her waist.

"Happy four month anniversary, baby."

Her hot breath sends shivers down her spine and she presses back into the warmth of another body pressed against hers. Senna turns her around and pulls her close, chest to chest and arms around her waist as Kath wraps her arms around her neck. Kath hides her face in the crook of Senna's neck, just breathing in the familiar smell. They sway slightly to the music in the background. Kath feels the jitters in her stomach fade away into something warmer, deeper, stronger. She closes her eyes whispers three little words into the warm skin of her neck. She's not even sure if Senna heard her, but at that point she doesn't really care. Kath Hummel is in love with her girlfriend.

The song ends, but they stay together long enough for another song to begin and end again. And then another. Then Senna bends down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the spot right behind Kath's right ear, and Kath knows she heard.

They're on a blanket on a grassy hill behind a playground in Lima, Ohio, at six in the morning, the sun only just stretching its purple fingertips over the horizon, and they're in love.


	2. Spies

The bullet whizzed right past his head, and he quickly leaned back to hide behind the pillar.

"I never took you as one to hide, Mister Hummel."

The voice came from right next to his ear, and in a fraction of a second he had his gun, loaded and ready to pull the trigger, aimed at Smythe's face, who just smiled his most charming smile. He smiled back, the smile not reaching his eyes.

"I'm not one to back down easily, Smythe."

At that, Smythe's eyes took a predatory glint. His smile got even wider.

"Cute. Unfortunately for you, neither am I."

With a swift movement of Sebastian's hand the gun slid over the marble floor and skidded to a halt several feet away, under the leaves of a potted plant. Kurt turned back to Sebastian, and in a series of swift kicks and punches he had him almost on the floor. A quick push from Smythe was all it took to get them both falling on the floor. They rolled around a bit, until Kurt had him held down. He was straddling him, one hand on his lapels, the other fisted in his hair. That was when they heard a few Warblers about to round the corner.

Infiltrating in an all-boys prep school wasn't the problem; the problem was to stay in character. He didn't panic, just pulled Smythe up by his lapels and crashed their lips together. He felt him stiffen for a second, but he, too, had heard the excited voices of teenage boys nearby, and he didn't want to break cover either, so he kissed back just as passionately. It was a sloppy kiss, no finesse, just teeth and tongue and a harsh bite here and there. The hand in Smythe's hair tightened its grip as a deft tongue found it's way between Kurt's lips. He could feel Sebastian grinning smugly against his lips, but he didn't let it go over him. He licked across the other man's tongue and rolled his hips down slightly at the same time. A soft moan tore out of Smythe's throat, and now it was Kurt's turn to smile smugly. He almost forgot he was only doing this for his job, when he heard someone clear his throat next to him.

"Um, guys?"

The voice startled them out of their silent battle. The Warblers they'd heard coming in the hallway were standing a few feet away. Kurt was grateful for his blush, for once, because it added to the credibility of his cover. Which was, apparently, making out with Sebastian Smythe, or, more importantly, getting caught doing so.

"I'm sorry for interrupting, but you're kind of in the middle of the hallway, and fourth period's about to end. I think you might want to find another spot to um. Do your business."

Nick looked so flustered his head was about the color of a ripe tomato, and Kurt giggled suddenly, picturing how they must look. He hid his face in the crook of Sebastian's neck. Both of them were red and sweaty from their earlier fighting, clothes askew and hair tousled. And now, with the kissing, if Sebastian's lips were any indication, their lips were also bright red and shining with saliva. He could only imagine what it looked like for the four boys who were standing there. He got off from Sebastian and helped him up, careful not to flash his other gun, which was still carefully tucked away in his waistband. Smythe took his hand, lacing their fingers together, and he fought the urge to pull his hand away. Smythe flashed his winner smile.

"Sure, we'll find a more… isecluded/i place, right, babe?"

He had to do his best not to scowl at the endearment and bite off Smythe's nose, but he forced himself to smile up at him. Two could play that game.

"Of course, honeybunch."

He even gave their hands a little squeeze. He could see Sebastian struggling to keep a straight face too.

"Okay, well, thanks for the heads up, gents, I think we're headed off to somewhere a little more—"

"Private, right, sweetie?"

They smiled at each other and turned their backs to the other boys, making their way to what they knew was a deserted classroom. They hadn't even closed and locked the door before Smythe had him pushed up against it, one arm under his chin, not yet pressing enough to cut off his oxygen supply, but enough to threaten, the other holding both his hands up against the door. It's a hold they both know he could easily break out of, but he wants to know where this is going. He quirks an eyebrow.

"So? Where were we?"

Sebastian grins and the force of their kiss knocks Kurt's head into the door but he doesn't care.

Let's just say that that night, the cover wasn't the only thing blown.


	3. BadBoys

**Love Is The Drug For Me**

"Hey babe."

The voice right next to his ear startles him out of the textbook he's working out of. He turns to look at his boyfriend and sighs.

"Hey Bas. What are you doing here? I have to study."

He can practically hear him smiling.

"I know. But you also have to relax; which is why I brought you…"

He trails off suggestively, effectively catching Kurt's attention and making him turn around. There is a small plastic bag with a bunch of green clusters swinging in his line of sight.

"What is—oh."

A grin spreads over his face, and he motions at the little plastic bag with one hand, the other keeping his book open on the page he was studying. Sebastian rolls his eyes but hands him the bag. Kurt studies the contents and then nods, lips pursed.

"I guess it'll have to do. I mean, I've had much better of course, judging the quality of this by eye, but—"

His boyfriend's lips effectively cut off whatever was going to come after that. After they separate with a soft smack, Kurt has no idea what he was saying. That is, until Sebastian takes one of his notebooks and settles on the bed, notebook closed in his lap; He gets the bag again, and a neat stack of papers, and lays it all out on the notebook. And then he starts rolling. His long, nimble fingers make quick work of the crumbling, rolling, sealing and twisting.

Kurt became enamored with his hands pretty early on in their relationship. About fifteen minutes, to be exact, when Sebastian's hands were wrapped around his cock and jerking him off with surprising technique. Now, the way his fingers loosely wrap around each joint to pick it up for inspection after it's been rolled, the way his tongue flicks out to wet the edge of the rolling paper, the barbell in the middle catching the light that falls through the window…It's all a lot more arousing that it should be, considering it's illegal. But maybe that's what makes it all the more attractive.

"So, just let me recapitulate here for a sec: you thought I had to relax, so you brought me pot? You do realize I'm studying Trig?"

Sebastian grins.

"Yup. That's why I brought you the good stuff. Now come on—" he pats the space next to him on the bed, "Let's get this show on the road."

"Wait a second." Kurt goes down to the bathroom and fills a glass with water, then takes an ashtray he got from a flea market and goes over to the bed. He plops down on the pillows. Resting his head on Sebastian's shoulder, he looks up, stretching out his hand towards where the two rolled joints lay on the bed. Making grabbing motions with his hand, he rests his other one just above Sebastian's knee, kneading slightly and moving higher and higher with every flex of his hands. It's his way of making sure he gets what he wants. But then there are two hands on his, pushing him away.

"What?"

Sebastian shakes his head and looks down at the joints, biting his lip. He then takes one in his hand and lights it, taking a drag and keeping in the smoke. He motions for Kurt to come closer, and oh. That's what he wants to do. Kurt complies happily and scoots closer. Sebastian curls one hand around the back of Kurt's neck and pulls him closer, sealing their mouths together. He exhales and Kurt inhales, and all of a sudden his lungs are filled with smoke and the heady scent of weed crowds his senses.

Pulling back from Sebastian, he closes his eyes and holds the hit in for as long as possible, until his lungs start to protest, and then exhales. He sees Sebastian staring at him, as he always does when they're smoking. He feels the blush already rising in his cheeks, so he quickly plucks the joint from his boyfriend's hand and takes another hit. Sebastian's hand is still on the back of his neck, tangled in the little hairs, and he pulls him in again.

This time though, Kurt has anticipated it, and with a quick movement that is possible only due to natural flexibility and years of training, he swings his leg so that he's straddling Sebastian. He then cups Bas' face in both hands and angles his head just like he wants it. Sealing their lips together again, he breathes out, this time letting his tongue tentatively come out to touch against Sebastian's. Immediately Sebastian's other hand comes to rest on his waist, and the hand in his hair tightens. He feels the warm metal of the tongue piercing sliding along his own tongue as the smoke mingles inside their mouths. Sebastian's tongue is warm and wet and demanding as always, and he finds himself caring less for the warmth of the smoke than for the warmth of Sebastian's tongue, and it's delicious. His head is feeling light and carefree, and he's not high yet, not by far, but he's already freer than he has been all month.

He grins against Sebastian's mouth and grinds down his hips a little, relishing in the moan that comes back. They have to pull apart for breath far too quickly, but they dive in as soon as they can, and soon the joint is nothing but a burning piece of paper, and they're kissing without the smoke as an alibi. They have no concept of time. Not that it matters if they've been doing this for hours or for days. Nothing matters but their warm, pliant bodies and the sweet burn of smoke. They run out of joints, but who cares? Their eyes are glassy and their limbs are loose and they're happy, and not all of it is caused by drugs.

Unless, of course, love counts as a drug.


	4. Circus

Kurt has been in the air for as long as he can remember. When he was younger he used to be a flyer, the other acrobats throwing him at each other, and basically all he had to do was keep his form. Now though, he has to fly. He closes his eyes in a moment of concentration, squeezes the bar in his hands, and jumps. He loves this. He loves the weightlessness of the flying trapeze, how the resistance of his body against the air ruffles his hair, how his muscles pull and stretch and hurt after a long day of training. But mostly he loves the attention it gives him. He loves the excited gasps and murmur of the audience when he soars through the air. He loves the circus as well, with its trailers and animals and people who are outcasts, just like him. There's only one thing he hates about the circus, and he hates it with a burning passion. The thing has piercing green eyes, hair done up so immaculately it's annoying, and a wit to rival his own. It also has a name. And that name is Sebastian Smythe. Smythe is one of the magicians' assistants, meaning he doesn't have to do much more than stand next to the magician, know where the secret compartments are and how they unlock, and look pretty. Yet he still thinks he's better than all of the acrobats together. Then again, he's also done it with three quarters of the circus, male or female or in between, doesn't matter. Done it as in sex. As in fucking. As in making out while getting off together. And Kurt's not the least bit jealous. No, Sir. Not the slightest little trace of jealousy on his mind when he sees Smythe sneaking out of yet _another _trailer at two in the morning, clothes rumpled and hair askew. Not the littlest bit of arousal spiking through him when he sees a shirtless Sebastian emerge from the box that has just been cut in two (completely unharmed, surprise, surprise). No feelings _at all_ when he looks at him from the other side of the stage and their eyes lock and his eyes are just so incredibly green, how are they so green?

Kurt Hummel, feeling something for Sebastian Smythe?

How adorable of you to think that.

They spend their days catching each other's eyes, making sure not to blush, and breaking each other down with snarky banter.

"I don't like your lady face."

"I don't like your horse teeth."

"Well I don't like your teeth—oh, wait, you don't even have any."

"And I don't like your obnoxious nasal voice."

"You're lucky you don't have to hear yourself squeak all day."

Glares are sent both ways, and they continue their day as usual.

Today is no exception, except that it is performance day, and Kurt is supposed to be the one disappearing in the magic act. He doesn't know who arranged this, or how, or why, but he has to step in the box, wait until the box closes, after which Sebastian will open the secret compartment. That's where he has to hide until Sebastian opens the compartment again, after which he'll stand in the main space of the box, and wait for it to open again. Et voilà, the acrobat has appeared again.

Kurt wishes he could disappear completely. The show starts, and the acrobat act is first. He soars through the air, soaks up the attention, and sticks every landing. It's exhilarating. Then though, comes the magician act. He goes to his position on stage, and plays the audience perfectly, looking as amazed and surprised as everyone else when the magician picks him to 'assist' with his act. He stands in the box, waits for it to close and slips into the secret compartment without any noise or movement seen from the outside. There is just one tiny little detail. Sebastian is there with him. The box is soundproof, so that if some assistant has to cough or sneeze, it'll be hidden. Too many performances have been screwed up that way. Both of them know this, and they waste no time to go on the offense.

"I can't stand your stench. You smell like a cheap lay. Oh, wait."

"I just love your attitude. It really suits your sequined pink ego to go with that gay face of yours."

"You're one to talk. If your mouth isn't filled with a cock or two you just can't stop blabbering about how much you want it."

"At least I'm not a stuck-up prude virgin."

"At least I'm not yo—hmmf!"

The end of Kurt's sentence gets cut off by a pair of lips on his own. Sebastian's lips to be exact. They're warm and soft and insistent upon his own, moving with a practiced ease. Kurt breathes in sharply through his nose, before sort of slumping against the side of the box. Sebastian immediately crowds in closer and pushes him up against the wall, kissing even more forcefully, licking into Kurt's mouth. Kurt slots a thigh in between Sebastian's legs and _oh. _He's not the only one who is enjoying this apparently. They push against each other, against the wall, and neither of them knows just how badly the box is shaking on the outside. Kurt flips them over, pushing Sebastian up against the other wall of the box. The audience watches, captivated, as the box begins to sway from side to side. There is a murmur through the audience as it starts to shake. The swaying gets worse, and with every movement of the two boys inside, the box tips over just a little more, until finally, with a crash, it slams down into the ground. The magician hurries to open the compartment and check if everyone is alright, but before he can even do so, Sebastian pops out, arms stretched to the sides and a show-smile plastered on his face. His hair is sticking up at odd angles from where Kurt had raked his fingers through, and his clothes are disheveled and askew. Kurt jumps out next, doing a quick series of handsprings and backflips to distract the audience, while Sebastian and the magician sneak offstage. After a minute or so, Kurt cartwheels off the stage too. He sees Sebastian watching him intently, his lips still kiss-bruised and his tie _still _askew. He walks up to him, and just when Sebastian stretches his hands out to welcome him, to kiss him, hug him, _whatever, _Kurt slaps him with the flat of his hand, as hard as he can. He can see the red blooming on Sebastian's cheek the moment he pulls his hand back. Immediately he cuts off any protest or complaints by taking his face in his hands and kissing him, deep and dirty. When they finally pull apart Kurt rests their foreheads together in a gesture so intimate it's almost entirely unfamiliar for Sebastian. They stand like that for a while, until Sebastian pulls back and asks Kurt what the slap-and-kiss was for. Kurt grins.

"The slap was for unprofessionalism. I mean, please, kissing me in the middle of a performance?"

Sebastian nods, then looks down before looking up through his lashes at Kurt.

"And the kiss?"

He smiles.

"No reason at all."

He winks slyly and backs Sebastian up against the nearest wall, trapping him with his wrists pinned above his head. He leans down to let his lips barely brush Sebastian's ear.

"No reason except for the fact that I really like to do it."


	5. Olympians

He knew from the moment his feet left the concrete of the diving tower that this wouldn't be a good one. He turned into the first backflip (double twisting layout) purely out of routine, and not a fraction of a second later a searing pain cut through his head, before everything went black. He was vaguely aware of the cool water hitting his face, and then his lungs aching for oxygen. A strange kind of lightness took over his head, and the only thing he could think of was _wow, this is a lousy way to go, I didn't even reach finals. _The following hours (seconds, minutes, days?) went by in fragments of consciousness. He drifted in and out of his own thoughts, felt like being sucked underwater time and time again. Kicking his feet against the current was of no use. There was nothing to do but drift.

His vision was blurred. There was blue.

A lot of blue.

Some green, too.

It was as if he was at the bottom of an empty swimming pool, staring up. He tried to move his legs.

He couldn't.

Weight was pushing on his chest, keeping him down, and forcing the breath from his lungs. Trying to scream was futile. He knew no sound would come out; only precious oxygen would go to waste. His eyes fell shut again.

A voice, soft and high and strangely powerful in a way that was normally reserved for mothers to their misbehaving toddlers when they want to tell them off, but not really. The melodious lilt of a smile had worked its way into the voice as it recited a poem. He knew the words, though he didn't know where from.

_He had green eyes_

_ so I wanted to sleep with him_

_ green eyes flicked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of a pool—_

The words floated through the air, twisting themselves into incomprehensible curls of letters and sounds, bounding off the walls.

They coiled into tendrils, snaking up around the pillars holding up the roof, sinking into the pit he was in. One of his hands came up to bat the a particularly reckless string of letters, twirling around his head and finally disappearing in his ear, settling in his brain. The sound of someone reciting a poem had never been so soothing, so utterly relaxing. He almost hadn't noticed the return of the weight on his chest, slowly pressing him down into the floor, making his hands come up on either side of his body, trying to shove it off his chest but he _couldn't. _He was gasping for air, flailing as the world around him blurred at the edges and he could vaguely make out background noises that weren't there before, a soft patter of footsteps and a rattle of something he couldn't quite place. Dark began to seep into his vision, and he could only just hear the last words of the poem. There was a hot breath on his ear, as if someone was whispering the words directly to him.

_ You could drown in those eyes, I said,_

_ so it's summer, so it's suicide, _

_so we're helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool_

There was an irritating, insistent beep in his left ear, every second, every heartbeat; it would send a tiny pang of irritation down his body, like a buzzing mosquito when you're about to fall asleep. He frowned and tried to bat it away with a wave of his hand, but his hand wouldn't come up. His face scrunched up as the beeping sped up, and all of a sudden there was a lot of noise, voices yelling, fingers prodding at him. The warmth of too many bodies in too small a room and then a voice, strangely reminiscent of the one at the bottom of the pool.

"Can you tell me who you are?"

He opened his eyes and spoke.

"I'm Kurt Hummel, and I didn't reach the diving finals."

A huff of relieved laughter and a crinkle of skin around vibrant green eyes.

"I'm Dr. Sebastian Smythe and I reached you just in time."


End file.
